When One Door Closes, Another Is Broken Into
by BlissfulCloud
Summary: Santana Lopez has just been kicked out of her house with almost nothing to her name, and having moved to a new city, she has no one to turn to. This unfortunately is only the start of a very crappy night, but does it have to end that way? AU Pezberry! Chapter one redone/edited please re-read.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** AU Pezberry. New re-edited chapter one, so it's better to reread because there are a few added things in here.

**Summary:** Santana Lopez has just been kicked out of her house with almost nothing to her name, and having moved to a new city, she has no one to turn to. This unfortunately is only the start of a very shitty night, but does it have to end that way?

**Warnings/Spoilers:** Cursing scattered about, angst, a scuffle, annnd... a little blood. Also, not beta, so all mistakes are mine. No spoilers, since this is AU, there are only a couple things canon between this Santana and Glee Santana.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine, but it is definitely a fun playground to get... dirty in. I do own this story, and I hope you enjoy part one. :D

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><p><span>Santana<span>

I pause in the doorway, eyes burning with unshed tears as they look dreadfully outside to the cold, foggy air. I try swallowing past the big ass lump that is lodged uncomfortably in my throat, but it's useless because every second I stand here, it thickens to where my throat is constricting, making me feel like I am about to choke. My head, heavy with a weight I shouldn't have to carry, turns to the left, hoping that one last plead will change his mind. "Papi-"

"Don't you dare call me that, you lost that right as soon as you chose this, this… abhorrent lifestyle over your own father! You are no daughter of mine." His cruel words, sharp and cutting, stops my begging short and rips the sob from my throat that I have been holding back for the last several heart wrenching minutes.

I clench my jaw to keep any more from escaping, and force myself out the front door with only a duffel bag, clutched protectively against me, in my possession. I flinch when the door slams shut behind me, and as the lock clicks in place, the sound signals a finality that has my heart shattering into a million pieces, every last one of them landing on the welcome mat beneath my feet.

My mind shuts down as I stiffly move away from my heart, and the place that was supposed to become home. The man I have known my whole life as my father, my papi, just tossed my ass out in the freezing weather with nothing more than a bag full of clothes. We moved to New York two weeks ago, Dad had gotten a job promotion at the law firm he had been working at for 10 years, and a change of location.

I of course, had no problem moving from Los Angeles to New York, there was nothing going for me there anymore anyway.

Graduated, no job, friends who I discovered were not true friends…

An ex girlfriend who cheated on me with who I thought was one of my best friends.

The move couldn't have come at a better time, it was the chance for me to start over, or so I thought. It was going great, Dad loved that I wanted to come with him, even though I had already turned 18 and was free to do anything or go anywhere, so he moved us into a 3-bedroom apartment in one of the nicest buildings ever to grace my eyesight.

We had always been close, especially when my mother became sick after a simple surgery, and then passed away after getting a fatal Staph infection. Things were hard, morose even, but we kept each other sane and we took care of one another, as a family should. That was three years ago, and ever since then, our father daughter bond has grown stronger, that is until I finally decided to tell him that I am gay.

He has always been so damn supportive of everything, and after all that had happened to me with my ex girlfriend, Brittany, I thought it was high time I came clean.

I needed my father more than ever, but apparently being gay crossed a line, and his unconditional love became conditional. He metaphorically kicked me why I was already down, kicking me out of our new house that resides in a new, unfamiliar city.

I have no one to turn to, and nowhere to go.

I don't know how long I've been walking, though it feels like I have been out here for hours, the freezing air and biting wind slicing through the warmest clothes I could throw on in a hurry. I have no gloves, and only the hoodie that I'm wearing to keep my ears from icing over, luckily, my favorite combat boots are enough to warm my feet. However, I am already tired, and my face is pretty much frozen over by now.

I stop and look around at my surroundings, eyes taking everything in carefully, so that I at least don't wonder off somewhere completely unknown.

I recognize where I have unconsciously walked, and know that there is a diner a block from where I stand. Not wanting or needing to stay here and let hypothermia settle in, I head that way, tears having long since stopped and icicled on my cheeks.

When I walk in, the heat is on full blast and it feels cozy. Only two other customers are here, a middle aged, balding man drinking a large cup of coffee at the bar, and a tiny, old oriental lady sitting by herself at one of the tables, sipping on a bowl of steaming soup.

I sigh and take a seat a few down from baldy, setting my duffel on the seat beside me so I can keep an eye on it.

"Good afternoon, honey, what can I get you?" A tall, burly man, who I have come to know as 'Bear', greets me while pouring me a fresh cup of hot coffee.

It's not until he looks up at me that he gasps and notices how shitty I must look right now.

"Potato soup and the largest chunk of brownie you have." I ignore the worried look he is giving me, telling him my order instead.

I don't have enough money on me to get a room; however, I can let myself indulge in sustenance, knowing that I will need the energy to get me through the night.

Instantly sensing that I am closed off and unsure how to proceed other than to get me something to eat, he says nothing, only nodding and moving away.

I rub my hands together, attempting to warm them up, but they are stiff, frozen, and trembling, so I focus on fixing up my coffee, and then pick up the mug, palming it in my hands for immediate heat. The cup is too hot though, only serving to burn and irritate my hands further.

"Here you are, almost hot soup, and a large chunk of soft, warm brownie." Bear reappears 10 minutes later, setting my food down in front of me with a wink, probably trying to cheer me up. The corner of my mouth twitches, but I otherwise do not react, not having it in me to even try.

"I let the soup cool off a little because it's better to drink or eat something warm when you're _that_ cold." He sighs, deflating at my lack of reaction, and explains why the soup is 'almost hot.'

I nod; it is all I can do because if I try to talk now, I know the tears will come, and that they will not stop anytime soon.

"Santan-"

"Thank you." I cut him off, mumbling my thanks to stop him from questioning me.

He sighs again, this time biting his lip, before nodding, again, and leaving me alone.

I savor every bite and sip, letting it warm and fill my belly slowly. My mind can't help but go back to what happened, and several times I have to fight back the tears threatening to spill over and drown me, a few escape the fight, though I manage not to break down. I will save that for when I am alone.

I do not need strangers Pitying, judging, and pointing at me like I'm some sideshow freak.

"Hey, honey, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we're shutting down for the night. That sexy weather man, Blaine Anderson, he forecasted high winds and a severe storm." Bear knocks me out of my thoughts, hinting at me to get out of here and covering it with a soft voice. In a voice that is still concerned for my well-being.

"Thanks, Bear, I-I appreciate the food, it was good as always. Um, I'm just gonna…go." I thank him again, throw some bills on the counter, and then hurry out before he can say anything.

The cold hits me like a slap to the face, and I curl into myself the best that I can before walking away from the only place of warmth I will have tonight. It has gotten dark, and I don't know where to go now, I have no new friends and a cell phone that will undoubtedly be turned off within the next day or so.

Not that I could call anyone, I have no one here other than my papi, and now I don't even have him. I stop again, needing to think on where to go next, eyes once again searching out. My shoulders slump though, when I realize that there is nowhere to go, at least nowhere inside.

Chin trembling, I lean against the building that I am beside for support, knowing that the tears may not stop this time around.

"Don't. Move." A deep voice behind me growls in my ear, and I feel something cold press against my neck, making me gasp and tense up instantly.

My heart bangs inside my chest, fear coiling within me and spreading to every part of my body, I am now suddenly colder than before. I stand, frozen on spot aside from shaking, waiting for him to do something. I don't have to wait long, the black duffel bag is jerked out of my hand, and I hear it thunk into the alleyway behind my captive.

"Good girl, now slowly put your hands behind your head." He gruffs out, his breath reeking of booze assaulting my nose and making me gag.

The cold object moves from my neck, only to slide lower to the middle of my back, the sharp point of a knife roughly digging into my skin on the way down. Afraid for my life, I do as he says, interlocking my hands behind my head. He chuckles smugly, and before I can react, has me whipped around to face him.

Breathing harshly now, I close my eyes, preparing to meet my end.

"You are way too pretty to be out here alone, in the dark, and in this kind of weather. But, I guess it is lucky for me that you're out here. Empty your pockets." His alcohol-laden words husk in my face, voice deceivingly soft while he plays along my throat with the tip of his knife.

Hoping that he will let me go after he robs me of everything I own, I open my eyes to memorize his face, but he is wearing a ski mask, effectively covering his identity. Glaring, I shakily take out my money clip, cell phone, and the loose change from all my pockets, his free hand follows, patting me down incase I'm withholding anything.

When he is satisfied, his dark eyes fall on the stuff in my hands, then pressing the knife hard against my skin he takes everything.

All goes in his own pockets bar the money clip, in which he holds out,

"Take your license out, leave the rest."

Confused but willing, I do just that, taking and pocketing proof of my own identity.

"Up against the wall." He shoves me none too gently, and I hiss out as my face scrapes against the brick and tears into my cold skin.

"Battle scars. Here is another, it will be a perfect cut to remember me by." He laughs at me, no regret in his tone whatsoever.

Bastard is taking pleasure in taunting me.

Another burst of fear strikes me, this monster hasn't done enough, no, he has to mark me permanently as well. This time I try to squirm away, elbows and feet attempting to hit their target in the process, but he just chuckles more and presses his heavy body into mine, trapping my limbs from hitting him.

"Now, now, none of that. I'm not going to kill you, pretty lady, I just wanted to play." His hand, large and ghost white, covers my mouth.

He is probably sensing that I am about to scream.

"Stay still; this will only hurt for a moment." The knife slides against my neck again, making me go rigid.

My breathing is out of control, and fat tears are rushing down my face to land on his meaty hand. The sharp blade quickly slashes right to left, and I scream at the equally sharp pain, only for it to be muffled by his palm with no chance of me being overheard. His weight, once constricting, is suddenly gone, and I don't hesitate to cover the slice in my neck to stop the bleeding. It hurts like a motherfucker, and it is definitely bleeding, but whether the wound is life threatening or not has yet to be determined.

When I don't hear anything but my own whimpers, I turn slowly around, to find that he isn't anywhere in sight. I relax only a second, not affording myself the feeling of being free and alive for long, the wind has picked up and it is now drizzling. I have to get out of here to find somewhere safe and warm.

Some place I can get help before I end up bleeding out in the deserted street.

Holding my sleeve to the cut, I wobble away from the wall, legs stiff and body hard to move. I force through it though, walking at a steady pace, and passing more closed buildings and shops along the way. I don't even know what time it is, but it has to be around eight or later, either way I am so tired and weak that I don't know how much longer I will last out here. Everything is down for the night, and the hospital isn't really within walking distance, not with the state I'm in anyway.

I would have to hitchhike a ride.

The closest things nearby are very little houses, condos and apartments, warm, cozy homes full of people. I hurry my pace, determined to knock on the door of the first one I come across. As soon as I walk up to the first one, the hell gates open, and hard, the cold rain pelting me relentlessly.

There is little traffic, and the only light is the street lamp. However, I am so desperate to get out of the rain, and in somewhere safe, that I decide right here and now that I will break in for my own safety. Thankfully, it appears to be an actual house placed on the corner lot.

If someone is home, which, thankfully it looks like there isn't at this point, I hope that they are merciful.

Drenched, shivering, and clutching onto the bleeding slit across my neck, I jog to the back while keeping an eye out for lurking neighbors; luckily, there are none. I try the back sliding door first, and when it gives without resistance, I send a thank you to the heavens right before easing inside.

It's almost as dark in here than it is outside, but the heat is on, and the house for some reason feels instantly…safe. I gently shut the sliding door, then tiptoe around what appears to be a sun-room, and once I reach the doorway, I peek out, seeing nothing but more darkness.

Why is it so damn dark in here?

This is not safe to come home to at all, I mean, there could be an intruder waiting in the shadows for God's sake!

Well, someone more intrudery than me anyway.

A door opening and closing somewhere else in the house has me freezing up, and my eyes going insanely wide.

"Why is it so damn dark in here?" A female voice questions my same query a room over.

A room that I am assuming is the foyer, where the front door is.

"Hey, don't look at me; you were the last one out the door. It's probably the weather." Another feminine voice answers, and I can just picture the accompanied shrug.

"No, look, the light wor-"

"SURPRISE!"

"AHHH!"

I startle, much like the first girl, (minus the scream) when a group of people scream out a united SURPRISE to her.

With a still trembling hand to my chest, I lean against the wall to calm both my heart and nerves.

"Oh my God! You guys! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Jesus!" Wow, this woman sounds pretty worked up, and maybe a little dramatic…

I should get the hell out of here while I can. Except, there is no way I can go back out there in that mess, especially when I'm still slowly but surely bleeding out. Shit, my hand is covered in red. What to do, what to do… Shit! This is so not cool, how am I supposed to explain this? I need to, to, to what? A bathroom. I need a bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, I lift off the wall, and then tiptoe in the opposite direction the voices are coming from, peeking in open doors as I go. A library, and two bedrooms later, I run across stairs, so after a look around to make sure no one is near, I slowly take the steps one by one. On the sixth step, it squeaks under my weight, and I wince, hoping the party-goers didn't hear it over their conversations.

I make it to the top, but have to stop to catch my breath. It should be illegal to have that long of a staircase. As I glance to the left and right, my brows furrow, there is only one door on each side. Shrugging it off, I instinctually head for the left and crack open the first door. The room is dark, though a bedside lamp is on low; giving me enough light to make out that this bedroom is definitely a girl's space.

It is not girly by any means, but the walls and bedding are not guy colors.

That is unless said guy happens to be gay… Either way, I enter the room, shutting the door softly behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot another open door, one undoubtedly leading to the adjoining bathroom. I am two steps forward when a whine pierces the quiet room, my heart freezes, along with my feet.

A black head pops up from its previously unknown spot on the bed, and my brief reprieve turns into abrupt panic.

Copper orbs lock onto my own undoubtedly dilated eyes, and long, astute ears perk up. With another whine, the potential threat stands on all fours, and I bite my tongue to keep from uttering a sound, fearful that any noise might trigger him to attack. I am feeling weaker by the second, and I'm afraid if I don't get to a first aid kit fast I will fall to my doom right here, but I don't dare take my eyes away from him.

He barks, once, it is loud, booming almost, and turns into a miniature howl.

My breathing picks up in fear, which really is not helping me any because my breath has been ragged and coming out in deep, short bursts already. The black beast moves, stepping off the bed in one swift movement, I tense in anticipation, waiting to see what he is going to do.

I really don't want to be here to find out, though it's not like I have much of a choice, either I move and he charges, or I stay and he jumps me. Maybe he is friendly, maybe he just wants to sniff me out to see if I am threat, or maybe he just wants to torture me before I become food.

He does neither.

I watch as he plops his butt down just feet from where I stand, and then my eyes screw shut as a major bout of nausea sweeps over me.

I waste no more time in going to the bathroom, too hurt and terrified for my own health to worry about the huge dog whining in the other room. I close the door, flip the light switch on, and then walk over to the wall mirror above the sink. Yet another whimper falls from my lips as my face is revealed to me for the first time in hours.

I am pale under the raw scratches along my nose, forehead, and chin.

My lips are tinted blue.

My hand, despite the heavy down pour outside, is still coated in blood, and the red liquid is running down my neck to right under my hoodie. Seeing it causes everything to catch up to me, and I have to cover my mouth to stifle the oncoming cries of anguish.

I bite the side of my hand to keep from being too loud, but the pain, both physical and emotional is too much, and I jerk it away to slam my fist down on the counter. Everything hurts, my clothes are soaked, and I am still cold as ice despite the heat trying to warm my body up.

I need a Band-Aid, or maybe even some stitches, a hot shower, and I need sleep.

I start with the first thing, my now bruising hand searching through cabinets to find something usable, thankfully it doesn't take long to find a first aid kit, I set it on the organized counter in front of me, and start sifting through it to gather what I need.

Lightheaded and feeling weaker by the minute, I slowly lift my bloody hand from my throat, only for the red liquid to gush out of the cut and trail down already drying blood tracks. Eyes growing wide, I quickly apply pressure to it to stop the bleeding, but the wound is deeper than I had first thought, and I don't know what to do now.

This is something that I cannot do on my own, I need help, and I need it now before I pass out from blood loss, or from anything else for that matter. I do know that I do not have the energy to go back downstairs. I would more than likely collapse and end up breaking my neck on the way down, so that is definitely out.

Starting to panic, I stumble out with stiff legs, and make my way back towards the stairs.

My body feels so heavy, and I know if I don't get help soon that I will lose consciousness, and there is no telling how long I would be up here before someone notices me, and by then I might be dead. Head fuzzy around the edges, I stand at the top of the stairs and lean against the wall, thinking on what the hell to do next.

Drooping eyes gaze around for an answer, until they fall on an end table holding a vase of beautiful yellow roses, then without much thought involved, chilled, quavering fingers take hold of the vase and let it go almost immediately.

I watch it hurdle down the stairs, water sloshing out as the roses fly every which way before the blue vase hits the bottom and shatters into chunks of broken color. The music pumping from the living room stops abruptly and all goes quiet.

I can picture everyone looking at each other and then to the doorway, where they had heard the loud noise break through their partying. Finally, after moments of tense waiting, multiple footsteps thud this way, and I grasp onto the wall again as my knees threaten to buckle out from under me. Light flickering on just about blinds me, but I blink the sudden brightness away, and the first thing I see cutting around the corner is a head of long brunette hair, followed by a little body in a sexy red dress.

The girl spots the broken clay, and she studies it for a few brief moments before lifting her head to look up the stairs, effectively causing me to fidget nervously as her eyes find and then lock onto my disheveled form. I would say that the breath was just knocked out of me by how gorgeous this woman is..

If it were not for the fact of me having lost most of my breath a while ago.

Her body goes rigid once she realizes that she is looking at an unknown person residing in her home, and then her right arm is lifting toward me and I am now staring down the barrel of a gun. Another girl hesitantly peeks around the corner, this one a few inches taller with short blonde hair.

She looks to the brunette first, eyes taking in her tense posture and the gun pointed at the ready. Her head follows the direction it is aimed in and then striking hazels that I can see from here land on me and go wide. She immediately straightens into a guarded stance, not looking an ounce afraid of me.

"Who the hell are you, and why the hell are you in my house?" The short brunette girl speaks up, her tone hard and questioning, after apparently having had enough silence.

I lick my dry lips and try to swallow with an equally as dry throat in an attempt to prepare myself for speaking, but it irritates the cut and makes me wince instead.

"Hey, she asked you a question, so answer it before I come up there and-"

"I-I needed t-to get out of t-the storm." I finally manage to stammer out an answer, cutting the blonde off between chattering teeth.

"So, you break into my home and start throwing my things around?" The girl with the gun questions me disbelievingly.

The other one arches a perfect eyebrow.

Tears sting my eyes as they grow heavier, and I nod at them, not being able to say anything else as my exhausted body melds against the wall.

"Great. Well, come down here then, instead of standing up there like a coward." She sighs and the gun lowers, though I can tell that her arm is tense and ready to re-aim if needed.

I take a deep shuddery breath and shake my head no, "I can't"

With my head spinning, I feel like I am about to lose it, and the last thing I see before my world delves into total darkness is a scowl on the hobbit like creature staring me down.

Jolting up with a start, my eyes snap open and frantically dart around, while my chest heaves for breath.

"Whoa, easy, you're okay." A soft voice coos beside me, and an equally soft hand comes to rest on my shoulder. On bare skin.

My breath hitches and then rushes out before picking up rapidly.

"Hey, look at me." The voice urges gently, and I can't help but obey." There you go, now breathe through your nose then let it out slowly." I stare into kind green eyes and the hand on my shoulder slides down my back, rubbing over it in soothing patterns as I breathe deeply in and out.

"You're doing well, just give me a few more, and then you can lie back down." She helps me along in the panic attack brought on by, well, whatever the fuck brought it on.

I can only comply, something in her gaze and comforting caresses easing everything tense inside of me. When I have satisfied her, she gently pushes me to lay back into the pillows, and tucks me snugly in, which makes me just now realize that I have been shivering ever since waking up.

Light footsteps padding in the room alerts me, and I look over to the doorway, where the spitting image of the woman sitting beside me is headed our way, with the blonde trailing behind her. They both seem to perk up when they see me awake, and the brunette quickens her stride until her ass is plopped down on the other side of me.

Before she can say or do anything though, a familiar black beauty pads after her, sitting loyally at the woman's feet. His eyes drift over me as he whines softly, making the unnamed girl beside me look down at him curiously. She rubs over his ears, an attempt at comforting him, one that doesn't seem to be working.

He shifts closer, his head inching toward me until a cold snout nudges my arm.

"It seems as if he is worried about you, which, to be honest, is a bit rare. He is usually a little more reserved and wary, protective even, as he is a guard dog after all." She rambles on, a fond smile lighting up her face as she talks about her dog and continues to rub over his shiny fur.

When I say nothing in response, she turns her head to focus back on me, the smile a little less light and a little more sad,

"How are you feeling?"

Well, damn, is this the same girl? From pissed off with a gun to concerned in-wait, how long have I been out?

"I feel like I've been sliced up. How long have I been out?" I mumble a quick answer, secretly hoping that she didn't hear me, but knowing that it does not matter.

She must have seen my neck.

"For a couple hours. What's your name?" She answers with a curious expression.

"Santana." I whisper as I brave gazing into her eyes.

"I'm Rachel, this is my mother Shelby, and the pretty blonde is Quinn." She introduces herself and the other women who are sitting to the left of me.

Quinn is kneeling behind Rachel's mom, with her chin resting on the older woman's shoulder, and arms wrapped affectionately around her waist.

They look comfortable, a familiar embrace by the best of friends, or even lovers.

I wonder which they are.

"What happened tonight, Santana? Who hurt you?" Rachel, who has the most beautiful Chestnut eyes that I have ever seen, questions me in the most concerned tone I've ever heard come from someone whom I just met.

Also, there is seriousness in those orbs, a determination, and maybe even a dare for me not to answer.

There is no fuckin' way I would take up that dare, she kind of scares me, and I would hate to incur the wrath that is floating just below the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

"I don't know who he was; h-he came from behind me. Bastard took what little I had; the only thing he left me was my license and a scar to remember him by." Therefore, I answer her, the words flowing without hesitation, and only one stutter, which I consider a feat seeing as that is all I have been doing lately.

The little energy I had gained from the short nap in this amazing cloud disguised as a bed has pretty much zapped out, and I feel my eyes starting to droop.

"Santana, I need to ask you one more thing, and then you can sleep all you want, okay?" I nod sleepily in response as the hand from before feathers through my bangs.

Shelby has outstanding bedside manner, and I kind of don't want her to stop.

Though, I would not mind if her gorgeous daughter joined in on making me feel better…

"Where did this happen?" Rachel takes my hand when she asks, her thumb gently stroking along my knuckles.

"Right here, didn't you see-"

"No, I need to know the location of your attack." She shakes her head, fingers squeezing softly as she corrects me.

"Oh, yeah, right. Um, you know that d-diner, Bear's? I-I was over there when the storm hit, he closed down for the night, though, and I had to leave, but I didn't have anywhere to go. I s-stoped a few buildings up to rest and think of what to do from there. It was a printing shop I think, and I leant against the wall, which obviously turned out to be a big ass mistake." Of course, the stuttering had to come back, along with fresh tears as I remember everything that I can and relay it to her.

The whole thing is frustrating, and it just makes me feel more tired than I already am, but when the little brunette in the sexy dress smiles at me and runs her free fingers through my hair, everything seems worth it. Seeing her, seeing that smile pointed at me, has honestly made my night, and said night has been nothing but pure shit.

So, when my eyes flutter shut, they are followed by a lopsided smile.

Rachel.

What a pretty name for a gorgeous girl.

A wet tongue tickling over my arm is the last thing I remember before falling back to a much-needed sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Well, here is part 2. I know it's been forever, sorry about that, but here is something to tide you along till part 3.. Hope it turned out okay. By the way, I re-edited chapter 1 and added a few more details along the way, there was just way too many mistakes in there for me to feel comfortable leaving it as is, so check it out. :)

Also, glee isn't mine. All mistakes are mine.

Enjoy? There will be more.

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><p><span>Rachel<span>

We watch as our intruder falls asleep with an adorable lopsided smile planted on her bandaged up face. I sigh, glancing at my mother, she is still observing the woman who had broken into our home and pretty much altered our lives as soon as she buckled and listlessly crumbled to the floor. At first sight, I knew instinctively that this girl was virtually harmless, but I was not about to let my guard down so easily, not when Quinn and I have already been through some pretty insane shit over the years.

People of both genders can be manipulative, psychotic crazies, and there was no way I was going to take a chance of this girl getting the drop on us. Then she collapsed right before our eyes, and I had no other thought than to run up there and help. What I saw when we got to her caused me to gasp and drop the gun carelessly off to the side.

She was soaked from the downpour outside, pale as a ghost, and had multiple scrapes all over her face. The almost too deep, bloody slit along her throat was the worst; the sight had made my blood boil. Something bad happened to this girl, and I was determined to find out exactly what, and then make it better.

I am determined.

Quinn helped me carry her to my bathroom, and then took off to get my mother, who works in cardiology at Presbyterian university and who is the only doctor in the house. With her help, we photographed, cleaned, stitched, and redressed the young, knocked out girl before tucking her in my bed for some much needed rest and warmth.

After giving her one last look with well-trained eyes, making sure she was stable, Quinn and I left her in the care of Mom. We then politely ushered everyone else from the party out of our house. The only information they got was that the intruder was a teenage girl who was hurt and only wanted shelter.

Now, staring down at the sleeping woman named Santana, I feel an urge to hurt whoever did this to her, and more importantly, I feel the need to protect her. That is exactly what I am going to do. I have never gone against my feelings or my instincts, so I will not start tonight.

She needs help, and she needs justice for the monster who marked her for life.

"I'm calling Noah; he needs to get a team out there as soon as possible." I say almost urgently, reluctantly turning away from Santana to look at Quinn instead, a fire in my eyes that is reflected in her own. I know that with us helping Santana out, there is no chance of the bastard who did this getting away with it.

Not when we know the best officers this side of New York City.

"Here, use my cell." Quinn hands over her phone; I take it, and then shoot off the bed to go in the hallway.

I use speed dial, and wait impatiently as it rings, "Officer Puckerman speaking, how-"

"Noah, this is Rachel. I need to report an assault that happened earlier on a teenage girl. Can you come over?" I quickly cut him off, getting to the point so that Santana can get the help she needs as swiftly as possible. Friend or not, there is no time for any type of pleasantries right now.

"Oh. Okay, what happened?" Slightly taken aback, he splutters out a response.

"Just send out a squad car, I'll explain everything then." I shake my head even though he can't see it, help needs to be here _now_.

"Does the girl need an ambulance too?" He asks seriously, and I can hear him shifting around, getting ready to leave.

"No, I've already taken care of her." I answer, as my eyes land on the sleeping beauty in my bed.

"Oh, and bring the big head; I will accept no one else for this girl." I continue before he can get a word in, and then hang up.

Instead of going straight back into my room, I detour downstairs for some coffee, almost tripping as my dark knight zips past me to come along. As the 8 cup coffee pot brews, I lean against the bar, head coming to a rest atop the granite counter, and then next thing I know, a warm body curls around my feet.

I cannot help but smile, though it fades when Santana's face suddenly pops into my head. I knew something was off when she had to lean against the wall, and even from the slight distance between us, I could see some of the scrapes on her face.

What I would not do to make all of them magically disappear, right along with the guy who did it. She is a beautiful girl, that much is obvious, and she can't be that much younger than we are, maybe by a few years.

Not that age has anything to with the situation; I am pissed regardless.

"Hey." I startle at Quinn's voice, my head lurching off the counter in the process.

"Are you alright?" She comes over, rubbing said head as she smiles worriedly.

"Other than being scared one too many times tonight, no, no I'm not." I stare pointedly at her, and she sprouts a sheepish grin.

It turns sad though, once she realizes that I am really _not_ alright at the moment,

"I'll fix your coffee."

I nod appreciatively, "Thanks, Q, I need it for tonight."

She only hums her agreement before heading over to the pot. I assume Mom stayed with Santana, the girl does not need to be alone, especially in case she has a nightmare, or if she wakes to no one in the room and freaks the hell out. For all I know, she could forget everything that happened due to stress.

On the other hand, she could remember everything, and become terrified.

As soon as the steaming mug of coffee is sat down in front of me, the door bell rings, and I'm about to bolt out the room when Quinn holds her hand out to stop me. She's right; I need at least a few sip of this before filling Noah in on Santana's attack. Watching her leave, I grab the handle of the mug, and start blowing to cool the coffee down.

One misjudgment and a burnt tongue later, Noah struts inside the kitchen, slightly wet from the rain that decided to slack off just enough, and the woman who gets to boss him around closely follows him. The guard dog at my feet tenses, his ears instantly perking up at seeing another new woman he has never met before inside of his territory.

Becoming alert, he shifts to where he is in front of me, guarding.

"Noah." Relieved that he is here, I slip past my one dog army, and wrap my arms around Noah's waist.

"Hey, what's going on?" He hugs me tight, before pulling back to look at me.

"Puckerman said that you needed to report an assault on a girl?" I turn away from Noah, nodding at the woman who has put my baby on edge.

"She broke into my house, and of course I drew my gun thinking she could have been dangerous, but the poor girl passed out upstairs. When Quinn and I went to go help her, we discovered that she had scrapes on her face and a cut along her throat that needed stitches." I recount what happened, a surge of renewed anger welling up.

"Did she say who attacked her?" Pulling out a notepad, detective Shannon Beiste gets down to business.

Good, I knew she was the woman for the job, no one else could possibly be any more determined than she is to put assholes behind bars.

Sighing, I continue telling them what I know, including Santana being asleep in my bed, and then wait for some type of reaction. Noah blinks at me, scratching at the stubble on his chin; he is apparently not sure what to think. Shannon seems more put together, though she too is processing the information given to them.

"We'll need to get a statement from the girl, and check to see if she can give us any other details before sending out a car." Besite informs me while shifting, and the movement has the black blob at my side doing the same, he seems to be restless, but I know the signs when he is about to charge.

Thankfully, this is not one of them.

This is what surprises me, how he is acting right now is normal behavior, yet he did nothing of the sort with Santana. I am pretty sure the girl upstairs became instant family as soon as he set eyes on her, otherwise, Santana would be in worse shape than what Quinn and I found her in.

"Do I need to be concerned about your dog, Ms Berry?" Beiste notices his posture with worry, her eyes slowly shifting from him to me.

"No, he's just cautious. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll take you on up." I give the strong, black head below me a reassuring rub, and then lead Noah and Shannon out the kitchen, wanting to get this part over and done with so that they can go find Santana's attacker.

Every second that ticks by, he could be getting farther and farther away, or he could be in a hidden place with the evidence of how he got there washed away by the storm.

This serves to infuriate me further.

When I walk in the room, my first instinct is to look at Santana, and as I do, my heart melts on the spot. She is virtually burrowed in my covers, having moved until all you can see of her is her chin and upward. The sight has me wanting to curl up underneath the down comforter with her, but more than that, it has me wanting to be the big spoon.

I honestly have to say that I have never felt more protective than I do now, with Quinn being the exception, as she is my best friend and I have had to kick some ass to save hers. Speaking of Quinn, she is sitting on the other side of the bed, a watchful eye not on Santana but on Mom, who is curled up in a chair on Santana's side of the bed.

I swear, ever since Quinn met my mother she has been crushing, hard, on the older woman. She can never keep her eyes or hands to herself, and to make matters even more confusing, Mom either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, but whatever the case, things between the two need to move forward.

Sitting in the empty space beside Santana, I carefully peel the blanket back, "Santana?"

"Santana, it's Rachel, can you wake up for me?" I rub down her arm, attempting to ease her awake.

She stirs with a whine, though does not open her eyes, and I frown, worried that I am going to scare her.

The dog now back at my feet lays his head down beside her covered leg.

I stroke back up her arm, adding a little more pressure this time, "Santana?"

"Mm.. Tired, five more minutes." She murmurs sleepily, curling up with a pout.

I smile fondly, finding her more than adorable; however, the smile fades as I remember why I'm waking her in the first place.

"I know you don't want to wake up, honey, but I need you to open your eyes for just a minute." I try once more, tone soft and understanding.

Another whine, this time accompanied by a beautiful brown eye popping open, followed by its partner. They blink a few times, adjusting, and then she slowly turns her head to look around the room, seemingly confused as to where she is. When her eyes land on me, they halt their search, and she makes a face of recognition.

When she spots her new canine buddy, a grin appears on her face for a split second before she jolts up with an expression filled with fear, a hand automatically going to the bandage on her throat, as she remembers what happened.

"Whoa, hey, don't touch it, the wound might reopen." I gently grab her wrist, keeping in mind that she might freak out from me touching her.

"I-" Breath heavy, she shakes her head, confused. "Rachel?"

She remembers my name. I want to squeal with delight, but I refrain.

"Yes. You're in my bed, _safe._" I reassure her, as my hand slides hesitantly into her own.

Brows furrowed, her eyes fall down to our clasped hands, making me blush and move to pull away. Someday my boldness is going to cost me a slap to the face, I just hope today is not that day, especially when Santana has been relatively calm in my presence thus far.

It feels really damn great that she is comfortable here; I'd hate to ruin it, though Santana doesn't even release her grip, she only squeezes tighter.

Santana's eyes are now on Noah and Beiste, a new wariness shining through as she jerks her hand back, "You called the cops?"

Well, that moment went straight to shit, so much for being comfortable, now she is just terrified again. Only, this time I can tell that she thinks I called them for her breaking into my house.

"San-"

"You're pressing charges? I-I thought, I mean… You know what? Never mind. It's a perfect ending to the night I've had. Here, handcuff me, there's no point in fighting it, I have nothing left to lose." My heart breaks as the emotional pain contorts Santana's face, and as she tries to be noble in turning herself in without a fight.

She has given up without even defending her case.

Moreover, what is this 'I have nothing left to lose'? Warning signals alert inside my head, they are telling me that this girl is in more trouble than I first thought, and every minute that I am with her a sinking feeling that something deeper than what happened tonight is going on.

"Ma'am that is not why we're here. Ms Berry called the department to report an assault on you, now whether she wants to press charges for the break in is solely up to her, but I doubt in your condition she would do that to you." Noah steps up to the bed, and quickly, yet calmly mollifies Santana's fears.

We all watch as she relaxes somewhat, her hands falling back into her lap, but she then seems to mentally curl in on herself as her eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears.

"What's your name, darlin?" Beiste asks her, while moving closer.

Santana looks up, a lone tear shed down her cheek, "Santana. Santana Lopez."

"Okay, Santana, I'm detective Shannon Beiste, and this here officer Noah Puckerman. Can you tell us what happened tonight?" Shannon introduces herself and Noah, with a pointed thumb in his direction, and even though I told them what I know, asks Santana to relay her own details.

I listen in as she does just that, telling them what she had told me, with a few added details now that she is more alert.

It both saddens and pisses me off all over again.

"Do you remember what he looked like other than his face? Like, what he was wearing, any markings or tattoos, or even the color of his eyes?" Noah inquires with a deep frown, after Santana is finished speaking, and has his notepad at the ready.

"He was tall, at least 6' 2", white, brown eyes I think, and he had on a black sweatshirt with army fatigues." Santana replies quietly, eyes glazed over as her fingers pick restlessly at my blanket.

I can't help but reach out to still one of them, wanting to quell at least some of her nervousness. Thankfully, it works, and the corners of her lips even quirk up in an attempted grin, before she timidly gazes down.

"Great, that should definitely help. How about your bag, what did it look like?" Writing in her own notepad, Shannon continues more questions.

I can tell Santana is becoming tired though, so I hope they're almost done. I'd rather them be out in the street looking for this guy.

"It's just a regular black duffel bag, nothing special." Santana shrugs, while unconsciously rubbing the pads of my fingertips.

The sensation created has me squirming, it is a pleasant tickle, and one that I suddenly wish was felt on other sensitive body parts. My hand twitches at the thought, and then I'm blushing for having thought of anything even remotely more intimate than what she is doing to me now.

_How very appropriate of you, Rachel, wanting a girl who is in a very vulnerable state. You're supposed to be caring for her, not thinking of ways for that delightful feeling to continue everywhere on your very tuned in, bare body!_

A throat clearing makes me flinch out of my chastising thoughts, and then I blush under five sets of eyes.

"You okay? You were far out in la la land." Noah, with his brotherly concern, rests a hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah, sorry." I embarrassingly laugh it off, feeling a sudden urge to bury my head away from everyone's attention.

"Alright, Santana, that should be enough. I'm going to go ahead and call this in; we'll get a couple cars out searching for this guy ASAP." Beiste bids her farewell with a nod directed at us all, and moves for a swift exit out of the amounting awkwardness.

"Here's my card, S, call if you remember anything else. I'll be in touch when something pops up, until then, let my little Jew babe take care of ya, yeah?" Holding out his card, Noah uses his charm, and a giggle worthy wink to warm her up to him.

Rasing a skeptical eyebrow, Santana takes the offered card with a mumbled thanks. Noah smiles at her, but she only bites her lip and gazes off to the side of my head.

He nods in understanding, stepping away, "I'm gonna go catch me a bad guy, see you lovely ladies later."

Quinn sighs, following him out with her camera in hand. The shots that she took will definitely help put Santana's attacker behind bars, where he definitely belongs.

"You should lie back down, I'm sure your energy is depleted by now." I refocus on Santana, not that it was hard - seeing as she's in my bed - and help her snuggle back down under the covers.

"You don't have to let me stay here, I can-"

"No, I don't have to, but you were assaulted tonight, so what kind of person would I be if I were to just let you walk out of here? Cruel, that's what kind, and I am nothing of the sort." Shaking my head, I hold my palm up, cutting off her ridiculous idea to leave in her state. Besides, I want her to stay; I want her here.

I want Santana safe.

"Oh. Are you going to press charges? Because technically, I didn't actually 'break' in. Your sliding door was unlocked." Santana looks away, grumbling in an adorable away, as nerves take back over.

I grin, amused by her defense, and in awe of how even her side profile is gorgeous.

"Santana, look at me." I request softly, not wanting her to think I'm about to go off on some crazy rant about technicalities and break-ins.

When she hesitantly turns her head, an almost grumpy expression on her face attempting to hide the scared girl underneath, I tentatively extend my hand, tucking some rogue strands of hair behind a cute ear.

"I wouldn't care if you had broken the damn glass to get inside, as long as you're safe and warm. That is all that matters. Now, if you broke in to steal, or to hurt my family, then things would be different, your ass would have been on the ground, but luckily you are not the bad guy in this situation." I tell her honestly, a teasing lilt to my voice.

She chuckles lightly, and the sound sends pleasant chills down my spine.

I want, no, need to hear it again.

"Rachel's right, you're staying, no ifs ands or buts about it." Walking back over, Quinn agrees with me, a challenging smirk on her face.

She is daring Santana to protest.

Santana only blinks, taken off guard by the teasing, yet serious tone of one Quinn Fabray. I'll tell you one thing, Quinn and I make the best team, we have each other's backs on everything, and if someone starts shit, we work together in knocking them down.

Metaphorically and or physically.

"Bed's comfy anyways, so whatever." Santana mumbles her response, giving in, albeit a little irritably.

I believe she has had enough for one night, she seems to be becoming a bit overwhelmed by everything, and the scowl on her face melding into a deep, thoughtful expression only solidifies my theory.

"I'm going to go get you something to drink, is Gatorade alright?" I reluctantly stand up, not ready to leave her, but I know she needs to rehydrate.

I sigh when all I receive is a distracted nod in return.

"Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?" I ask, while eying her, hoping to get something other than a nod this time.

"Not hungry, my stomach is in knots." Her answer isn't what I wanted to hear, it only means that she is either thinking too hard on what happened to her, or thinking on something else that is making her feel sick.

I don't particularly like it; in fact, I wish I could take all of her pain away so that she doesn't have to think of anything bad.

Ever.

Unfortunately, that is not possible, so it hurts like a bitch seeing her like this.

"Okay, I'll be right back." I tell her, and then quickly leave my room, wanting to get back as fast as possible.

The protective side of me doesn't want to spend any time longer than necessary away from her. It's like I have this strong urge to be by her side, and when I walk off, like I am doing now, I feel a pull trying to tug me back towards her.

I don't know what the hell to think of these feelings, but the intensity of them is almost staggering, and I can already tell that they are going to drive me insane.

* * *

><p>Next chapter will be them learning more about each other, and maybe some QuinnShelby development..


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